Frozen Lake
by TZDDN
Summary: This is the story of how Tony deals with the fact Ziva's dead, or rather how he can't accept it. The frozen thoughts of a broken man slowly melting down, making him crmuble a little more for every step he takes. Tag summer between season 6 and 7 (Ziva in Somalia left for dead)
1. Denial

**Hey y'all! So this is a new fic I'm writing, I've been thinking about writing it for a couple of days now. It's going to be shorter that the usual (hopefully) and I really hope you'll be enjoying it. I kind of have it already planned in my mind, but if you want to suggest something please do. :) Also let me know what you think about it in the review section ;) you people are wonderful :)**

**Title Notation: I entitled this story "Frozen Lake" because it's the title of a song a friend of mine has written a while ago. I don't know, when I wrote the story it kind of popped into my mind, because I think that tony's thoughts are melting here.**

**Frozen Lake - J. Hanse**

**And I've been lying to you  
If I said I do enjoy  
Running around a frozen lake  
Of melted thoughts I can't pursue  
And I am waiting for it all  
To rush me back to sweet sensations for the  
Meaning of this mortal call**

**FROZEN LAKE**

**Chapter 1: Denial**

_"There are no survivors"_

The words echoed inside Tony's ears but he couldn't make out their meaning. No survivors?

He stood there, as if nothing had happened. It couldn't be. Ziva couldn't just be dead. He would know it. He would _feel_ it. No, everything was wrong. Ziva was not dead. She was his super Mossad assassin ninja, probably the most badass person he knew. She couldn't just die in a ship wreck.

He felt several pair of eyes staring at him. In fact, everyone had turned to him, to see his reaction. For now he had had none. His brain was simply not accepting the information.

"Tony…" Abby begged, tears filling her eyes "say something."

He just stared at her with the stupidest look he could pull. Why should he say something? Was something wrong? No. Everything was perfectly fine. Why was everybody staring at him then? He did what he thought would be best and pulled Abby into a bone crushing hug, just how she liked to give them. Was he doing good? Gibbs nodded at him, still looking worried but he assumed he was doing the right thing.

He just kept staring into nothingness, anyone who would see him would say that his eyes were empty. He, on the other hand, felt nothing.

They all left the Labby, some were making phone calls, others (such as McGee for example) were frantically typing at their computer. Tony just sat at his desk, staring at her empty desk right in front of him. After an undefined period of time he turned his head to Gibbs, who was staring at him intensely. They looked into each other's eyes for a minute, then Gibbs broke the eye contact. Tony was scared of what he had seen in his boss's glare: sadness and desperation, but most of all worry.

Gibbs was scared of what he had not seen in his SFA's look: it was just empty, soulless. And that, in any way, couldn't possibly be a good sign.

Gibbs understood: Tony was in denial. He couldn't deal with the pain Ziva's death would bring, so he just didn't accept it. And this was really bad, because once denial would be over, it would dawn on him, but the weight of the news would be a thousand times heavier, and he didn't know if Tony could stand it. He didn't know if Tony could ever live through it.

Then Gibbs thought of the liaison officer. _Damn, Ziva, you really messed up with him this time! _

Of course he was utterly crushed about the news. Ziva was like a daughter to him, and he left like he was losing Kelly all over again, but this was no time for mourning. He had to think about the other kids, those who were still alive. He could only brace himself about what would come next as far as Tony was concerned. The SFA would most certainly blame himself for her death. Truth was, it was really his own fault if Ziva had died, he was the one who left her in Israel. Well, she didn't come back because of Tony, but he was the one who had made the final call. Either way, this was really going to be one hell of a roller coaster.

The day went by, nobody said a word, not about the case, not about Ziva. The MCRT was awfully silent.

Tony was staring at his screen, and at Ziva's desk. He wasn't thinking though. His mind had been a blank the whole afternoon. Suddenly, he realized that Gibbs was standing in front of him, talking to him.

"What?" he asked.

"I said" Gibbs repeated patiently, with a soft voice that didn't sound like his at all "do you want to stay at my place tonight"

Tony looked at his boss as if he were trying to ask him out on a date. His eyes opened widely and he raised his eyebrows.

Gibbs understood he was probably too shaken to understand on his own so he added: "You shouldn't be alone, Tony. I thought some company could be of good use."

Tony frowned.

"I'm fine, Gibbs. I'll be staying at mine, if you are looking for me." he answered.

Tony packed his stuff and walked out of the bullpen. Twenty minutes later he entered his home. He threw his stuff on the coffee table, including his keys. He placed his SIG in the wooden box on the cupboard and sank into the couch. He automatically reached for the remote and turned on the TV. _Dr. NO. _That was exactly what he needed right now, a Bond Movie to get focused on something, anything.

He hadn't been watching the movie for more that fifteen minutes, than his doorbell rang. He lazily stood up and dragged himself to his door. He was still in his working clothes.

Tony was genuinely surprised when he opened his door to McGee.

"McGee…" he stated, surprised and a bit disappointed. Why disappointed? He wouldn't know. Maybe he was hoping it would be someone more…feminine. Who? Ziva? Maybe.

"Hi Tony. I brought you some pizza and some beer… Figured they might come in handy."

Tony looked at him as if he were speaking german, or something. Why would McGee bring pizza over to his place. Was he dating him too, among Gibbs, and he wasn't aware of it? He thought his co-workers were definitely acting really strange, today.

Tony didn't say a thing and stepped back to let McGee in.

When he realized McGee was in his apartment, he figured he really wanted to spend his evening alone watching a Bond Movie, rather than spending it in small talk with McGee.

"Actually Probie, I was expecting someone tonight." he lied.

"Really? Who?" his friend asked intrigued.

Tony stared at him of a few seconds and said:

"None of your business."

Tim understood this was about a girl. He let the pizza on the kitchen table, but kept the beer. If Tony was going for a hooker, he might as well not be drunk too.

"Fine, I'll leave then."

He turned his back to Tony and headed to the door. Once on his doorstep, Tony was about to close the door on him but he held it for a second and said:

"Don't do this to yourself, Tony."

He knew. He knew Tony was going to blame himself for the rest of his life. Tony looked at him quizzically, but simply answered:

"Goodnight, Tim." and closed the door.

He sat back on his couch and continued to watch his precious movie. Right in the middle of the movie someone said the word "survivor", Tony's eyes shot wide open, he jumped up. How could he have been so blind not to understand it before? "_There were no survivors_", Gibbs's words echoed once more in his mind.

"Ziva…" he muttered. Then it dawned on him:

_Ziva David is dead._

_AN: So what do you think? Should I continue? Please review! You'll make me very happy and inspired! (which I am not, right now)_


	2. Hurt

**A/N: I am not entirely happy with this chapter. Truth is, I should have written it all over at least 2 or 3 times to be happy with it, but I'm running out of time. I have another story coming up, hopefully soon. The problem is that I start medschool in...4 days. I know, it sucks.**

**Anyway, this is my 2nd chapter. It's a two part chapter, one with Tony alone, and another one with McGee and Tony in the bullpen. Thought it would be interesting also to see how everyone tries to stay close to him and he pushes them away. One at a time.**

**FROZEN LAKE**

CHAPTER 2: Hurt

Dead. Ziva was dead. How was this word so ridiculously hard to pronounce? He remembered when his mom died.

"she left, you won't see her again" "she's gone" "she passed away"

Passed away. God, he hated those words. What did they even mean? She was dead. Dead. And dead is the word because dead is timeless, there was no "passing away" that could stand up to that.

"Ziva" he let out in a animalistic gasp. He sunk down to his knees, holding his head between his hands.

"noooooo!" He yelled at the top of his already scarred lungs. This was happening, this had already happened. Ziva is dead.

He thought he would be less in pain if he had been run over by a bus.

Suddenly he stood up and raced to the dresser in the living room. He pulled out a frame with a picture inside. It was one of his favorite pictures. They were younger by two or three years. They were at Gibbs's house for thanksgiving. The picture portrayed him and Ziva, talking, laughing. He was smiling a DiNozzo grin, reaching out for this glass of red wine. She was trying to hide a smile, and was glaring at him with the corner of her eye.

Tony always loved it because it was so natural, so genuine, so simple. Simple is always beautiful, and every time he looked at this picture he wished things could have stayed that way between them, simple.

He looked at the picture, tracing her slight smile with the tip of his finger. He would never get to see that smile, ever again.

This thought made him infuriate, and hot angry tears started to stream down his cheeks. He screamed and threw the frame against the opposite wall, shattering it into a million pieces.

Still yelling incomprehensible words in rage he flipped the couch and kicked it as hard as he could with his foot. He then took out the drawers from the dresser and smashed them against the unnaturally positioned couch. Their content flew all over the place, it was mostly papers. He then turned around and the spin gave him enough speed to break the wooden drawers against the wall. He let the pieces of wood fall from his hand, and turning around he noticed the lamp. He took in and in one smooth movement threw it out of the window, regardless of the fact that the window was closed.

A sharp shard of glass embedded itself into Tony's forearm.

The adrenaline rush had to fade before he could even acknowledge that fact.

He regained lucidity for a few moments, and stared at the living room he had trashed himself. Taking the shard of glass out of his arm, he pressed his good hand against the superficial injury.

Then he started crying. Not angry tears as it was before, no. These were tears of despair.

"Why...?" He muttered.

Then, raising his head up towards the sky, ignoring the fact there was the cielling in between, he yelled

"Why?!"

To whom, Ziva? God? He wouldn't know.

Tony had never been a religious man. He had been a religious child, as his mom would bring him to the mass every Sunday, but he hasn't set foot in a church since her death. And that night, after a very long time, Anthony spoke to God.

"She wasn't done yet! She had time! You pretend you are this loving God, this forgiving God! Is this how you love your children? Is this how you pay them back?"

He stumbled on his own feet and let himself fall to the ground. He buried his head in his hands. His bleeding arm was silently staining his pants, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything.

"We still had time..."he whispered to himself and Ziva, possibly.

He flashed back to the last time he had had a conversation with Ziva.

_"You loved him."_

_"I guess I'll never know..."_

_And she had walked away from him._

She had walked away because he was worthless to her. He had shot her boyfriend, what was he expecting? A medal? A kiss?

The next thing he knew she was staying in Israel.

"What have I done, zi..."

He convulsively shook his head, still between his hand. His traits drew a mask of horror when he realized...it was his fault. She had stayed in Israel because of him, she had accepted that mission because of him, she had gone on that God forsaken ship because of him. And it had sunk, because of God. Yep, that was it, he had his culprits. Just him and the Big Guy up there.

He walked to the wall and punched it as hard as he could. Then he did it again, and again, and again, until he wouldn't event feel the pain of his broken hand anymore, just see the wall tint itself in red, from his smashed knuckles.

When he discovered it didn't relieve him from his interior pain, he let himself slide down against the wall. He was still crying loudly.

"Where did I go wrong, Ziva? What did I do?" He said barely audibly. It didn't matter anyways, there was nobody in his apartment. Nobody apart from his broken soul.

"I'm sorry..."

He sniffed.

He curled up in a ball and hid his face. He stood there, on the floor of his apartment, curled up in a ball, for the remaining few hours of the night, before he could go back to NCIS, murmuring

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Ziva, I'm sorry." Over and over again, like a mad man.

NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNC ISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS

The next day, Tony walked into the bullpen as if nothing had happened. Nobody was there yet. He carefully put down his backpack, in order not to injure his arm and hand any more than it already was. His arm had stopped bleeding, but his hand was blue and swollen. The torn skin on his knuckles revealed the cracked articulations, and Tony had to admit it was pretty painful. But it was nothing compared to how he was inside.

He had read on a magazine that some people had an illness that prevented them to feel any physical pain at all, all over their body. He had talked about it with McGee, two weeks before, and told him it was a wonderful illness. Tim had disagreed, saying that it was horrible, because something might be wrong with your body and you don't even realize it until it's too late, and you keep hurting yourself without even knowing it. He had strongly disagreed with McGee, saying that feeling nothing was better than being in pain.

Now, he knew Tim had been right. The last few months with Ziva, life had not been easy on him. First the heartbreak he felt when he knew Ziva had a boyfriend, then the fact said boyfriend was a threat to NCIS and to Ziva and that she seemed to refuse any kind of help from him…He had suffered a lot. But now, now Ziva was gone, he simply didn't feel anything anymore. It was like being in apnea without her. And everyone knows what happens when you can't breathe underwater for too long…

"Hi, Tony." McGee said entering the bullpen. Tony raised his gaze and plastered a ghost of a smile on his face. Tim looked at him worriedly.

Tony's face was pale, and he had deep dark circles under his eyes. His usually bright green eyes were darker than usual, and they were red for tears and anger. But what really alarmed McGee was his hair: it was a mess. And if he'd ever been sure of one thing, it was that Tony DiNozzo's hair was _never_ a mess. He was holding up much worse than expected.

"How are you…?" he asked. Stupid question, the answer was obvious.

"Fine." The other grunted.

"You…You wanna talk about it?" he hazarded quietly. Again, stupid question.

"No." Tony answered dryly

"Tony… please, I hate to see you.."  
"Why would I want to talk about it? Would it change anything? Would it bring her back?" he snapped.  
"No" McGee tried to reason him "but…"  
"That's what I thought…" he mumbled, and turned to his computer to start working.

Tim walked closer, and put a hand on Tony's desk to have his attention. Tony stopped typing on his keyboard, but kept his eyes on his screen.

"Tony, if there's anything, _anything_ I can do…"

"You wanna do something, McGoo? Get your ass to your desk and start typing…"

Tim looked at him, confused.

"You…want me to sit there and just…type on my compter?"

"Yeah! You're a damn MIT graduate in computer technology, so just use your fucking computer and leave me the hell alone!" he yelled.

Thankfully not too many people were in the office at that time. Tim sighted, and walked lazily to his desk. He sunk into his chair, still looking at his broken coworker.

"To-"  
"Don't." Tony cut him off "just don't."

Tim sighted again, turned to his computer and started typing.

_AN: No offense intended to any God. I am religious, so it wouldn't be in my best interest if it was intended as an offense. Just so you know. Please REVIEW!_


	3. Drunk

Chapter 3: Drunk

The pain. The pain was unbearable. He had to do something.

It had been three weeks since he had trashed his apartment that night, for the first time. Yes, the first time because there would be many, many more. His house was a mess. He was a mess. How could he not be? She was dead.

His hand would have healed by now, should have healed by now according to Ducky, if he hadn't broken it two more times against the wall, and through his window. Gibbs was worried. Tony knew Gibbs was worrying about him, but he wasn't ready to confront him yet. Gibbs had known DiNozzo long enough to know not to push him, especially when he was emotionally instable like that. So he waited for his agent to turn up into his basement.

Tony went to the liquor store after work. He needed something, something strong. The pain was just too much for him to take. Normally he would have taken a bottle of Jack because Jack was what soothed him when he was depressed. However, he was not depressed, he was _dying_. He didn't need something to soothe him, he needed an anesthetic. He grabbed three bottles of Vodka from the shelf. Three, because he might drink them in one night and end up in a coma, but he might keep some for another night, and Tony had a feeling they would come in handy for a while now.

He walked home from the store and set his purchases on the table. He carefully took one of the bottles and opened it. He was determined to do this. He didn't want to feel sorry for himself, for her, he just wanted to black out and forget the pain, forget that she was no longer there.

He stared at the open bottle in his hands for a few seconds. His eyes showed nothing but pain, his lips were pursed in a grimace that would have broken even Gibbs's heart. He studied the red label of the bottle and the transparent liquid inside for a while, then silently he raised the bottle to his lips and took the first sip. He barely felt the watery liquid in his mouth, however, he let out a groan when he swallowed the large amount of liquid. He felt it pour down his throat, burning it and ripping it off, leaving the disgusting taste of dissolvent in his mouth. He felt the cold drink in his stomach, eating him from inside. And finally, he felt his vision distort slightly, as if things were happening in slow motion around him. He let out a few heavy breaths, to try to get back the sensitivity of his throat and refresh his tongue that was on fire. Yes, this was good.

He took a few more sips, spilling a few of the drink over his shirt. Whatever, it was not like he would hang out any time soon anyway. Yes, now he could definitely feel it, he could definitely feel the alcohol shutting down his brain. His vision became blurry, and he felt his head spin. Suddenly, he could feel everything more clearly. He heard the clock ticking in rhythm with his heartbeat pounding inside his head. He felt his stomach turn. He would have probably thrown up by now, if it wasn't that he hadn't been eating anything in the past two days. They had had a rough case, and he didn't feel like quitting working to buy food, so he just simply fasted. Yes, but then when you don't eat, the effects of alcohol are worsened. That was what he wanted. He smiled in content and raised the bottle to his lips again, in a faint attempt to drink some more. As soon as he began to swallow the Vodka, his hand opened on itself, letting the bottle slip from it and shatter on the kitchen floor. It took a few seconds for his drunken brain to catch up with what had just happened. He stared blankly at the pieces of sharp glass on the floor, and the remaining liquid expanding on the floor slowly. When he realized what had happened he tried to get up from his chair, but instead fell on the floor. He sat against the island at the center of the kitchen. His head was throbbing; he couldn't feel his mouth or his limbs. He slowly bent his knees and put his crossed arms over them and put his hand against his arms.

His tired brain elaborated the only coherent thought it could produce: bed.

He slowly raised his head and tried to get up, his limbs not moving whatsoever. He tried to drag himself out of the kitchen, but didn't succeed. He laid a few seconds motionless on the kitchen floor before passing out.

NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNC ISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS

**The next day**

Three hours, and DiNozzo hadn't showed up yet. Gibbs looked once more nervously at his watch, then at his phone to check if he hadn't called in sick or something. Nothing. It was almost eleven o'clock when Tony dragged his lazy ass into the bullpen. Gibbs glared at him. He was pale, and had deep dark circles round his eyes, which by the way were barely open. DiNozzo let himself sink into his chair. He took a couple of aspirins from his top drawer and swallowed them with his coffee, which he had brought in with him. He put up a disgusted grimace before leaving the cup on the desk. He closed his eyes, crossed his arms and rested his head over them.

"You're late." Gibbs stated matter-of-factly.

Tony kept his eyes closed and didn't answer. Gibbs walked up to his desk and head-slapped him. It wasn't a particularly hard head-slap, but to Tony's hangover it felt like he had hammered his head.

He gasped loudly at the sudden contact and raised his head.

" 'm sorry Boss, won't happen again." He mumbled slightly opening his eyes.  
"Sure it won't" Gibbs whispered only for Tony to hear.

**One week later, 11.27 p.m., Gibbs' basement.**

He was waiting for his agent to show up. Tony had crossed the line. He had come in late every day this past week, always hungover and a couple of times even drunk. He smelled like strong alcohol from miles away, and people had started asking questions.

He had summoned him to confront him about his drinking problem. By not eating anything all day and drinking his ass out all night his liver would probably explode soon.

He was silently building his new boat, named Ziva, when he heard the front door shut and footsteps into his house. He smiled to himself. He heard the heavy footsteps reach the basement door. He didn't need to turn around to know Tony was standing on top of the stairs, staring at him. Gibbs turned around and saw his SFA, dressed in one of his nice suits, his tie loose around his neck and a bottle of alcohol in his hand.

Tony took a few steps down, and Gibbs couldn't help to notice he swayed on his feet. He had probably had more than a drink or two already.

"You came." He stated, almost in disbelief.  
"You ordered." The younger agent answered simply.

Gibbs let his tools fall on his table and sat on a wooden chair. He cleaned his hands with a cloth and said:  
"Talk to me, Tony."

Tony raised his gaze for the first time and looked at Gibbs's icy blue eyes. He shook his head, silent.

"You know" Gibbs continued "drinking won't bring her back."  
"I know" Tony snapped.  
"And it won't ease you from the pain either."  
"Yes it does."  
"Do you really think so, DiNozzo? Cause I think it's destroying you, more than anything else."  
"You don't know the first thing about it." He hissed.  
"Then tell me."  
"I can't." Tony said lowering his gaze. He couldn't have this conversation.

Gibbs understood that and tried another strategy to make his agent, his son, talk.

"What's with the facial hair anyway?"  
"Do you know what a break-up beard is, Gibbs? It's when a girl breaks-up with you and you let your beard grow. Then when you're over it you shave."  
"Yeah, I know that. Three divorces, remember?"  
"This is my leave-me-fucking-die-alone beard." He said bitterly.  
"You thought about it? Dying?" Tony would have sensed his boss's concern in his voice if he hadn't drank before coming to his house.  
"Sometimes."  
"Only 'some'?"  
"Many times." Tony corrected himself.

Gibbs didn't say anything, but he nodded. Then after a few minutes of silence Tony spoke again.

"How did you deal with your wife's death, Gibbs? How did you move on when your soul mate was gone?"

Gibbs waited a few seconds then answered:  
"You don't."

Tony stared at his boss, nodded and turned towards the stairs.  
"I'll see you 'round boss."

He climbed a few steps until he heard Gibbs again.

"I don't want to see you drunk or hungover at the office, Tony. Never again."

Tony stopped and listened to Gibbs, but he didn't turn around to face him.

"Or else?"

"People have complained and asked me to report you to Vance."  
"I don't care." He climbed up two more steps.

Gibbs jumped off his chair and ran to Tony. He grabbed his wrist and pulled it tightly, forcing him to turn around and face him. Their eyes locked.

"But I do." Gibbs said "I've been there, I know how you feel and I also know I can't do anything for you right now. You have to go through all this to find a way to cope with her loss. I know these stages are necessary. But please, don't do this to yourself; you're starving your body from what's really important for its survival."

Tony stared at him blankly. He was right, he couldn't do anything for him.

"That's the point Gibbs. I died on that ship with her, why should my body survive?"

Gibbs opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out of it. He stared at his SFA in shock. Tony looked at him, his eyes full of sorrow and shook his head. He pushed Gibbs back a little so that he would let go off his wrist.

"Bye, Gibbs." And he left, leaving his boss in utter shock.

From the top of his drunk, DiNozzo was making a tremendous amount of sense.


End file.
